New Year's
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: "Hey, let's go back to that place with the people with the long necks who've been celebrating New Year for two centuries! I left my glasses there, and most of my dignity..." Do you think you could write a one shot about what Clara did to embarrass herself at this party?


The planet was one of the good ones, he'd told her on a nod, confidently, a few hours after they'd arrived. It was mostly the truth; it was one of the few where they hadn't run into problems. It was rare and he'd smiled involuntarily when his companion had pleaded they stay for a few days. Because, Clara had exclaimed, "Two years celebrating New Years already with no signs of stoppage – you can't say you've ever joined in on a celebration that long, can you, Doctor?"

Of course he couldn't argue.

Firstly, she was right: it'd been a while since he'd simply let himself celebrate something on a planet for longer than a few moments before disappearing away to look for a new adventure to chase. But also because she was tilting her head and giving him _that smile_ as her body swayed from side to side, skirt doing a half twirl around her legs. It'd been too long since she'd worn a skirt like that; flowy and loose and delicate and enticing...

"One day," he'd replied, finger coming up alongside his eyebrows as he tried to give her a stern look, but she'd squelched it with a tight hug and a squeal that sent his hearts racing momentarily as she dropped back, took his hand tightly, and pulled him into the festivities.

He wasn't sure he could take more than one day.

The Doctor started to believe it might be a bad idea when he saw how easily their alcohol affected her. It was always that way with humans, he'd lamented. He took a sip and could calculate the rate of inebriation and he would stop himself from drinking any further, but humans? Humans had no clue, nor did they care really, they simply drank. They enjoyed the way they lost themselves as they lost their inhibitions and Clara was no different.

At first she giggled too much. The sound sent ripples of gooseflesh down over his body and for a while he simply enjoyed it. She'd rush towards him, face brightened by some spectacular tale in her mind she'd let spill in a series of loud sentences, barely heard over the sounds of music and shouting. She'd take hold of his arms, just beneath his elbows, fingertips slipping to grab hold of the fabric to tug him down and whisper in his ear.

Her breath, heavy with moist heat and the scent of some sweet liquor, would warm his mind with her words. He knew, deep down, he should have stopped their celebrations and lead her back to the Tardis when the cardigan went missing, and the blouse came unbuttoned, but the same way she was intoxicated by what she'd consumed, he was intoxicated by her reaction to it.

Clara's smile, ordinarily bright and beautiful, glowed in some new way he couldn't understand and he stood before her, transfixed by it. Her laugh, a laugh he'd heard a thousand times before, suddenly echoed between his ears like a song he'd never grow tired of hearing. And her eyes – _he sighed at the thought of those eyes_ – they travelled over him deviously before she turned away and climbed atop a wooden table barefoot, tossing her sunglasses aside to point at him as she danced to the music.

He looked away a moment, cheeks burning as she began to point her fingers at him, urging him towards her as she shouted out, "Come on Doctor, isn't this how you work?"

"Just crook my fingers and I jump in your snog box?" He teased, head cocking slightly as the long-necked cheerful patrons around him laughed.

She stomped once lightly to test the strength of the platform and then gestured, "Snog table'll have to do." Her shrug was accompanied by a giggle he was certain only he heard as his hearts began to pound. "Come on, Doctor!" She called out, arms rising to the cheers of the crowd around them.

They began to push at him, and he could understand the people were encouraging him to partake in the celebrations; he knew they thought he was merely a bystander to them. He'd seen them eye him warily as he refused drink after drink while his companion accepted them happily. He suspected his clear mind had begun to formulate some sort of ruse out of the situation – this wasn't a celebration; it was a _trap_.

Of course, he knew that wasn't the truth, it was merely how he felt, making his way towards the table before hoisting himself up to loud applause and Clara's hands taking hold of the lapels of his coat to hold him steady while he found his footing. It wasn't a very large table, but it was enough for them to stand together, smiling idiotically at one another as the crowd clapped and whistled.

She pointed at him and looked around before informing them, "This is the Doctor," and then she nodded lazily and added, "This is _my Doctor_!"

"Clara," he breathed quietly when she turned back, "I believe you've had quite enough New Years for a few years."

Her hand waved between them and her lips crushed together as her eyes momentarily closed before she blew out a breath and said simply, "Nonsense." Then she reached for his hands, smiled sleepily up at him, and whispered, "Dance with me."

"On a tabletop," he spat, "In front of all of these... _people_?" He added harshly.

She laughed, eyes not leaving his, "You've done far worse in situations requiring grander performances for larger audiences, Doctor – I know, I've been there for them."

Mouth opening, he watched her left brow rise slightly, and he clamped it shut, body shifting faintly to the music as her grin grew. After a moment the pulsing and pounding softened and he felt her hands slip up to wrap around his neck as she laid her head to his shoulder and sighed. They swayed together silently for a time, and then her head shifted and he heard her whisper something inaudible.

"Sorry," he muttered, "Can't hear you." He bent slightly, looking to the way she was examining the collar of his jacket, and then she inched forward to kiss him there.

The Doctor couldn't decide if he would freeze or melt in that moment, but then a second kiss turned his knees to jelly and he gripped her sides firmly, holding her in place as her mouth worked its way along his jaw line and then confidently met his lips.

He wanted to breathe her name. He wanted to still the drums inside his chest that both terrified his mind and burned his body. Instead he remained still, allowing her to taste him gently, tongue running slowly along the underside of his top lip before she pressed herself into him and kissed him properly.

For a moment he met her motions, eyes closing as he reveled in the way their ragged exhales mingled as they each took a breath before closing that tiny bit of space between them a second time. His fingers tightened their grip on her waist, lifting her slightly for leverage and he moaned when her waist pressed into him seductively, urging for more than a stolen kiss.

And that's when he pulled back, gasping and turning away and then turning back to stop another attempt with his forehead nudging against hers as he shook his head and told her softly, "Clara, no."

Bowing her head, her breath escaped in a shuddered, "Sorry," and he chuckled, head shaking against hers.

"I meant not like this," he corrected, lifting his head and watching hers fall slightly before she rolled it back slowly, staring up curiously at him as he informed her, "You're drunk on their spirits; it's not right."

Clara smiled, nodding just enough before she asked him, "You're cutting me off now, aren't you?"

"After that?" He breathed, before reluctantly telling her, "Yes."

Nodding again slowly, she dropped her forehead to his chest and he could hear her laughing lightly, muttering something about _dignity_ and _memories_ and _stupidity_ , and then he hoisted her up into his arms as she moaned her discontent, though it lasted merely a moment. Clara buried her face in his shoulder and he could feel the heat of her embarrassment through his jacket as he hopped off the table and landed roughly against the ground, beginning a walk back to the Tardis and towards her bedroom.

He sighed when they arrived because she'd already fallen asleep, her cheek lying against his breast, one arm hanging limp at his side, the other lying against her stomach. Watching her take slow and steady breaths, he smiled, thinking about how foolish he was to care so much for such a tiny thing, and then he turned and sat on the bed, closing his eyes to take a long breath.

"How could I not," he explained softly before teasing, " _You've made yourself essential to me_."

Clara smiled in her sleep and took a long breath and he shifted, standing to place her delicately atop her sheets and watch her curl up on her side before he covered her and brushed a hand over her head, squatting beside her to sigh. He could see feel the warmth of her body, seeped so deep into him his bones were humming, and he hesitated to leave, wondering just how long he'd be allowed to stay at her side.

The question reverberated through his already tired mind, thinking on how dangerous some of their trips had become. Thinking on how her behavior had grown increasingly erratic. He frowned and bowed his head. He knew why, he'd merely been avoiding the fight. Avoiding the confrontation. Avoiding the inevitable outcomes.

Lifting his eyes to watch her, he swallowed and sighed at the taste of her, still lingering there in his mouth. Tainted by the alcohol, but no less sweet. The Doctor stood and straightened his suit and he took several steps towards the door, dimming the lights and taking a breath so deep it pained him.

"You'll regret a lot in the morning, if you remember any of it" he told her with a nod as he looked back at the shadow of her blushed cheeks and her pouty lips in that darkened room. He closed the door behind him and then sighed to himself, "But should you remember any of it, I hope you don't regret it all."


End file.
